Lord of the Frozen Winter: Starting with Daily Intelligence Reports

In the early summer, the Northern Territory rarely showed a trace of gentleness.

On the window ledges of the high floors of the castle, the last layer of snow was quietly melting, water droplets dripping down the stone walls, refracting faint light under the sun.

A warm breeze blew in through the half-open long windows, carrying the scent of damp, reviving earth, making one almost forget that this place was once a bitter, cold land where even breathing would freeze.

The sunlight, with just the right amount of warmth, slanted across the huge oak long table in the center of the study.

Louis, however, had no mind to enjoy this comfort.

He stood by the wall, his back to the window light, holding a pen in his hand, his gaze fixed on the massive map hanging on the wall.

But it wasn't the Northern Territory, but the Southeast Province and its surrounding provinces, or rather, the Holy Eastern Empire.

The pen moved across the map, making a faint rustling sound.

Major ports were circled, coastal grain collection points were marked with thick lines, and several main inland rivers were repeatedly annotated.

He left a few symbols next to key nodes that outsiders couldn't understand—these were marching routes, supply transfer points, and contingency plans for when the situation spiraled out of control.

The heavy wooden door of the study was suddenly pushed open.

The pen in Louis's hand froze mid-air.

Bradley walked in, his steps as steady as ever, but his expression was more solemn than usual.

Behind him followed a person completely wrapped in a dusty gray cloak, the hood pulled down low, almost obscuring the entire face, looking like a refugee lost in the wilderness.

Louis merely glanced up, effortlessly piercing through the deliberately suppressed aura.

A High-rank Extraordinary Knight.

Moreover, he was severely injured, his battle qi on the verge of exhaustion, relying entirely on willpower to hold on.

Such a powerhouse could guard an entire city, yet now he stood in Louis's study wearing a ragged cloak, his posture subtly betraying instability.

Bradley stepped aside slightly and said softly, "My Lord, the person has been brought. This is Sir Nico. He is... one of Old Duke Calvin's most trusted personal guards."

The person under the cloak slowly raised his head and removed the hood.

It was a face completely weathered by wind and frost. His eye sockets were sunken, and his lips were chapped, clearly indicating he hadn't had proper rest in a long time.

Even so, his gaze remained clear and vigilant, though the near-depleted exhaustion deep within could not be hidden.

Nico didn't waste any words, nor did he salute or kneel.

He simply used a slightly trembling hand to retrieve an envelope from his inner lining and presented it with both hands.

"Young Master Louis..." His voice was hoarse, but without hesitation, "This is what the Duke asked me to give you."

Louis reached out and took it.

It was just an ordinary brown paper envelope, the corners even slightly worn. It bore no family crest, no wax seal, looking almost deliberately clean.

Because any extra marking could prevent it from ever reaching its destination.

Louis only gave Nico a slight nod, then deftly slit the envelope open and pulled out the neatly folded letter paper inside.

He knew that handwriting intimately, but it was no longer composed.

Every letter was written with exceptional force, the strokes sharp and hurried. In many places, the pen had even torn the paper surface, ink spots bleeding into the fibers, leaving behind undeniable marks.

Louis could almost visualize the scene when the letter was written.

His hand was shaking uncontrollably, his body too weak to sit for long, yet he forced himself to write every stroke, precisely because of this letter's importance.

The first line of the letter contained no pleasantries.

No 'To Louis,' no 'My son,' not even a single superfluous flourish.

"By the time you read these words, I should have very little time left, but I have planted a massive thunderclap in the Holy Eastern Empire.

It won't explode immediately, but shortly after my Death, the administrative center will be paralyzed first, the Holy Vouchers issued by the Church will become worthless paper within three days, and the price of grain in the Capital will increase dozens of times..."

Louis's gaze lingered on those few lines for a moment, but he showed no sign of surprise.

These conclusions were not unfamiliar to him.

Long ago, the 【Daily Intelligence】 reports had already pieced together this picture for him in fragments on his desk:

【Lampard and Duke Calvin have reached an alliance. Terms: After Louis moves south, Lampard will be permitted to retain one overseas island as a fief and receive one-third of the Calvin Family's assets in a lump sum.】

【The Southeast Province Archives suffered a sudden major fire last night. Core documents, including the 'Land Survey Records,' 'Population Registers,' and 'Actual Tax Source Lists' from the last decade, were all incinerated.】

【Duke Calvin, due to poor health, has formally appointed his eldest son, Seldon, as 'Regent,' granting him full authority over family affairs and the signing of external treaties.】

【Vero Port was sealed off late at night, but it has been confirmed that a fleet was secretly loading gold coins, destination unknown.】

...And these scattered pieces of intelligence, reconnected by this letter, were chaos deliberately orchestrated by Duke Calvin.

"The Southeast Province is now a piece of fat meat smeared with poison.

The Church has swallowed a piece, Seldon has swallowed a piece, and the Royal Family is drooling on the side. Even if you do nothing, within ten days, they will start killing each other over unequal shares.

What you need to do is not enter the fray, but wait—wait until they are poisoned before landing."

Louis's finger tapped silently on the desktop. Duke Calvin was feeding him his advice piece by piece, in the manner of spoon-feeding.

"I burned all the tax rolls, keeping only one copy in a black box. Without it, the Church in the Southeast is blind.

I have cut off the grain routes. Now, only you can save those millions of people.

Remember not to give grain immediately. Wait until they are starving to Death, wait until the knights are only working for those two gold coins, then give them what they want. Make the people of the Southeast understand that only you can give them life..."

Reading this, the deployment of his southern forces, the sequence for taking over ports, the temporary grain price curve, and the security nodes had all aligned in Louis's mind.

He had already begun these preparations.

Even some details others couldn't perceive, such as preemptively moving his full-blooded sister, who was still in the Southeast Province, and placing her under protection, had already been completed.

In the middle section of the letter, the handwriting began to change noticeably.

The lines became unsteady, certain strokes were almost forcibly carved into the paper, and several ink blots were abruptly smeared, as if blood had dripped onto them.

"The family seal is in Nico's hands, and the real tax ledgers and the secret keys to the overseas treasury are also with him..."

"From this moment on, you are the head of the Calvin Family..."

Louis looked up, glanced at Nico, who was still standing nearby, barely holding himself up, and then looked back down to continue reading.

"Also, investigate thoroughly what happened to Eduardo.

As for the others... including Seldon, those fools who leech off the family—if you find them too troublesome, just get rid of them all..."

Turning to the last page, unexpectedly, the tone suddenly shifted.

It was no longer the cold calculation of a strategist, but rather a frankness bordering on dark humor.

"Finally, a piece of advice from someone who has been through it: have more children, marry more women, and breed relentlessly."

Don't worry about feelings, and don't worry about how to raise them. As long as the quantity is high enough, among twenty or thirty, one will eventually, like me, get lucky and produce a monster like you."

This was the supreme survival secret of the Calvin Family: quantity overcoming probability.

At the end of the letter, there were no extra farewells, only a signature—Calvin.

Louis closed the letter.

He thought of that absurd suggestion about 'having more children' and finally let out a short, cold laugh.

In that man's logic, he was never a cherished son, but a lottery ticket that had won the jackpot. The previous twenty-plus failed wagers.

Mediocre, useless, and drained offspring were merely acceptable sunk costs.

As long as one 'Louis' finally emerged, the investment was completely won.

He was not angry because of this; on the contrary, he calmly accepted this designation.

Since you treat me as a probability event, then I will naturally take all the prize money.

And when he reviewed the layout of the entire letter, what rose in his heart was not warmth, but an almost icy respect.

To praise and then destroy the most obedient second son, to abandon the long-lost Pope's Son and the Peak Knight eldest son, to chew up the family's flesh and blood along with the old order, all to hand the final authority to the most dangerous, yet most likely to succeed, heir.

That was not fatherly love; it was a naked transfer of power.

An Old Lion, before aging and Death arrived, personally bit to Death all his weak Cubs.

But as a lord, Louis had to admit that this ruthlessness, the kind that sacrifices everything for victory, was in itself a force worthy of awe.

The Duke left behind not a will, but a ticket to entry.

Louis extended his hand, took the heavy family ring offered by Nico, and placed it on his finger.

From this moment on, he chose to consume this blood-soaked feast entirely.

The instant the metal ring tightened, a subtle, almost imperceptible change occurred in Louis's aura.

That cold restraint unique to the Northern Lord merged silently with the insidious scheming passed down through generations of the Calvin Family. No longer repelling each other, they finally meshed like two perfectly fitted gears.

He turned around and calmly walked toward Nico, who was still kneeling on one knee.

Having completed his mission, the breath Nico had forcefully sustained across the continent had completely dissipated.

His body swayed slightly, cold sweat beading on his forehead. If his will hadn't held him rigidly, he probably would have collapsed long ago.

The fighting spirit of a High-rank Extraordinary Knight was being depleted, like a well about to run dry.

Louis stopped in front of him.

"Sir Nico," his voice was deep, but without any condescending pity, "don't rush off to see the Old Duke."

Nico's shoulders trembled slightly.

"In the letter, he swallowed that breath back," Louis continued, "but I did not."

He leaned down slightly, bringing his gaze level with Nico's.

"Live well, keep your eyes open, and watch for him.

Watch how I grind those Bastards in the Southeast into dust, inch by inch, and watch the Calvin banner planted back atop the Capital's walls."

Louis straightened up, his tone tightening, regaining the stern rhythm of a lord issuing commands.

"Take Sir Nico to the best guest room, use the highest grade life potions. Without my permission, Death cannot take him."

The guards immediately responded and stepped forward to support Nico.

Just as Nico was about to salute and withdraw, Louis called out to him as if suddenly remembering something.

"Oh yes, Nico."

Louis walked to the window and gestured toward the Training Ground outside Red Tide Castle.

In the setting sun, the Red Tide Army was conducting its routine drill, their formation neat and their morale soaring.

"Don't rush off tomorrow; it happens to be the Red Tide Army's Review."

He didn't turn back, merely saying lightly, "Since you are the Old Duke's most trusted knight, you can inspect them for him."

"See if my Wolves of the North have teeth sharp enough compared to his Southeast Province back in the day."

A long-lost flicker of emotion finally appeared in Nico's cloudy eyes.

He had originally resigned himself to Death, intending only to bring everything to its conclusion.

But the phrase 'inspect them for the Old Duke' was the precise spot that struck his final vulnerability.

Nico bowed deeply, his forehead almost touching the ground.

"As you command..." After a brief pause, his voice was deep and clear, "Patriarch."

The moment the title changed, the transfer of power was finalized.

Louis's gaze lingered on Nico for a moment, then shifted away.

However, only one cool and pragmatic thought flashed through his mind:

A resource of a High-rank Extraordinary Knight's caliber is too rare; it would be too wasteful to let him perish halfway like this.

After Nico left, the top-floor study returned to silence.

Bradley remained standing there, not speaking immediately.

The Head Steward, who always managed every affair in the Red Tide Territory flawlessly, currently had his gaze fixed intently on Louis's left hand.

More accurately, it was fixed on the Signet Ring worn on his thumb.

His Adam's apple bobbed, and his lips trembled slightly against his will.

As a man who had served the Calvin Family for thirty full years, he knew this ring too well.

Now that it had a new owner, it meant only one thing... that once imperious Duke Calvin had likely reached the end of his life.

Grief surged in his chest like a belated tide.

But when Bradley raised his gaze to look at Louis again, that sorrow was suppressed by an even more complex emotion.

The demeanor of the young lord before him seemed even calmer and more powerful than the Old Duke in his prime, as remembered.

Bradley suddenly realized that the child who was once considered superfluous.

The young master sent to the Northern Territory to fend for himself, had truly reached this point.

The ring had not chosen the wrong person.

He opened his mouth, intending to salute, but found his throat as if blocked by something: "My... Lord... the Old Master he..."

As soon as the words left his mouth, his voice choked uncontrollably, and he couldn't finish the latter half of the sentence.

Louis glanced at him, said nothing, merely turned to the liquor cabinet, took out a bottle of strong spirits, and decisively poured two glasses.

He handed one glass to Bradley, "Don't look like you're attending a funeral, Bradley; the Old Duke isn't dead yet."

This statement was not gentle, but it carried more strength than any consolation.

Bradley took a deep breath, accepted the glass, and nodded forcefully, forcibly suppressing the emotion that was about to overflow.

The atmosphere settled down.

Louis didn't give him much time to process his emotions, naturally turning back to the oak long table covered in maps and documents.

"How are preparations for tomorrow's Review coming along?" His tone had already reverted to the customary sternness of a lord inquiring about military affairs.

Bradley straightened his back almost reflexively.

"Everything is ready, my Lord." His voice was clear and methodical again. "The roster for all legions has been verified, equipment maintenance and drill rehearsals are complete. Logistics, medical staff, and ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ the Artisan Department are all on standby."

Louis nodded, as if contemplating something in his mind, then suddenly spoke, "I have an idea."

Bradley startled and subconsciously looked up.

"Note it down first," Louis said unhurriedly. "Tomorrow's Review needs an additional segment..."

Bradley's eyes widened slightly.